To Never Fly Again
by Ukyou
Summary: Syaoran, never having told Sakura that he loved her before it was too late, gets one last chance to make it all right in a dream. The thing is, to what extent will he go to in order to stay in the dream?


**To Never Fly Again**

by Ukyou

A special note:

This is the first fanfiction I've written in a number of years (2 years to be exact). I figured that after my last actual story (Left With Flowers), I would take a brief hiatus, but as it turned out, I never wrote another fanfiction again.

Tell you the truth, I don't remember anything about Cardcaptor Sakura really, except maybe for a few details here and there. I once ran a quite popular CCS website which was shut down after my host ) magically disappeared in one of the biggest cyber hosting frauds ever.

Still, I don't know what devil possessed me to write another fanfiction. Tell you the truth, at this very moment, I have no idea of what I am even going to write at all.

Anyways, this might be my very last fanfiction ever. So, I'll try my best.

To say that this is also my last fanfiction, I've put in one character from a past fanfic of mine.

---

**Chapter One - Of Devils and String**

He had a touch of visual surrender that would shoot out from him if he looked at you the right way. Then, he would quickly go back to whatever he was doing and pretend as if he wasn't looking at you at all.

It was strange, in a sense, to think that he could have possibly been a 'hero' at all. To think that years before, this man had actually had a part in saving the world. A man that had once lived with a strict sense of honor. A man that had once been in love.

It is now as if that honor had been taken to the ground and sliced up into little pieces so that it could dissolve more easily. To think that a man such as this, not a photographer or an artist, could have once seen the big canvas in the sky or the piano in the empty room.

It is said that an artistic mind is a mind driven with insanity, that such insanity sparks a genius locked away in a man. If such insanity is present, however, how could it possibly affect a man with so many layers as Syaoran? What if he had some memory, some catalyst for such a thing?

Could it possibly drive him mad?

---

All he could hear was the ticking of the clock.

Just sitting there, his eyes showing his lack of sleep. It was two in the morning and Syaoran found himself just mesmerized by the inner workings of the clock on his wall. He remembered how he had received it, a parting gift from Sakura only two years before. He remembered what she told him before he left her standing her. He remembered the thousand things he should've said, and how he said thing thousand-and-one.

Sooner or later though, he thought, it was just going to be another clock on the wall if he could stare at it for long enough. Maybe then its significance would melt away with his utter boredom with the clock. Still, no matter how hard he tried, it never was just another clock - it was almost some great mocking monument to something he once could've had.

A symbol of some old devil that was still trapped inside of him, eating away at his very soul.

Every memory of her was followed by a shudder, a sense that he did not remember those moments, as good as they were. He never could get her out of his mind though, maybe because he had lied to her that day - maybe he _did_ love her.

He had so many excuses as explanations as to why he never said it to her. Maybe he was afraid that it was too soon, but of course, would that truly matter if he were to go away, disappear. To say that it was his last day with her too - how could he explain that? The truth is, he never did. He could never explain it, not fashion a viable enough excuse as to why he never said it.

Which is why, two years later, even after countless brief encounters with others, Sakura was left as the one woman that could've made him complete. Syaoran had to live with the fact that he never truly accepted it, that he could have, there and then, at least told her the truth.

But then, his glancing at his clock was interrupted by knocks on his door.

Syaoran looked at the door cautiously, being that it was so late for anyone to fashion a visit to his home. He walked slowly to the door, opening the door slightly. His eyes then peered over the edge of the door to glance outside.

Nothing.

Sensing that it all was a waste of his time, he slammed the door in anger, both furious that such a prank had burst his thought, but also relieved that it had done so as well.

As he walked back to his chair though, he felt something strange. Something out of place. Something was missing. A certain familiar sound was no longer present.

He walked back to his living room, looking at the clock on his wall. It had stopped, all the little gears had frozen in place. Instead, now, it was now a decoration on his wall instead of an implement for time.

Staring at it for a minute, he crossed his arms. It wasn't right. There was something not right about it all. It didn't feel right not being there acting significant.

So, he opened the front of the clock, and taking its key, would it up again. Once more, the inner mechanisms of the clock started up with its newfound energy as its vitality was as present as ever. Syaoran gave a smile and took a seat once again.

Staring at the clock.

Staring at the clock.

Staring at the clock.

It helped him remember again. Reopened that inner rift in his heart, helped him bleed his soul into the world. He took in a cup of tea before the memories seemed to play out in front of him. He was the ship in the stormy sea, and the clock was his lighthouse. He imagined himself there, once again, in that dream world of his, the one that could only leave you wishing for more.

And with that, every sense of reality slipped past his fingers as if it were sand blowing in the wind. Every small ounce of regret bled away from him. For once, he was at peace, for once he could finally breathe.

It is said that when you dream, your soul flies away from your body into a place in which one cannot describe. A place of dreams perhaps, but sometimes, it is a place where it seems as if you are inside joy. Other times, you can go to a much darker world, one that drifts with the uncertainty of night.

However, there are times in which your mind goes somewhere _else_. Somewhere in which you seem to be stuck inbetween, for one can only decide whether or not such a dream is a nightmare or not from the actions they take in such a situation.

Syaoran had a glimpse of something, something that was buried deep inside of him.

It was time to confront it.

------

He suddenly found himself seeing flashbacks. A cherry tree, it was one cherry tree. Its leaves were at the mercy of the wind, its blossoms gracefully gliding with every stream of air. He could see it so clearly, its fragile pink blossoms hanging on to their brances as well as they could.

Then, it was right in front of him. The air was cooler than summer, but warmer than winter. The wind was gentle on him, and he found himself wondering where he was. It was a park, he knew that, but which one ... and something about this tree. It was all just so familiar, and so special.

"So, you're just going to stand there?"

Syaoran turned around to see a man standing behind him, a camera in his hand. He had the look of an educated man, a smart one.

"I'm sorry, I never realized that I was in your way" Syaoran replied, walking to the side.

"Well, you're not as much in my way as you are in your own" he said back to him, looking seemingly busy with his camera. "Nonetheless, you're here and I'm here, and I suppose you're about to ask me where you are and all of the usual questions that you all ask when you get here."

"The thought never crossed my mind." Syaoran then replied.

"You're a bad liar, Syaoran." the man then said to him. He lifted his camera and faced it towards Syaoran. It gave a click, and then the man would it up again.

"...wait, how do you know my n-"

"I know many things about you, Syaoran." the man replied. "I know about the twisting and turnings of your life, I know about all the empty chairs, and I know about all the sounds, thoughts, and moments that plague your mind."

Syaoran felt a strange sense of power coming from the man as he spoke. Something wasn't right about him. Something didn't seem real.

"My name is John, maybe a Jonathan or a Johnny to you. That's the most sure thing you know right now."

"Alright, John." Syaoran brought up the one question that had been bouncing in his head ever since he had arrived, "Where am I?"

John then walked up to Syaoran and whispered into his ear.

"You're in Neverland."

...and then he disappeared. Syaoran looked around himself, shaken, looking for the man that was just there in front of him.

...but then, his glance was broken by another figure in the park.

Sakura. It must have been her. But how? She was ... she was ...

It all came rushing to his head all at once. He should have told her he loved her. He should have told her before she ...

.... but none of that mattered anymore. No. Not at all. Here she was, right there, right now.

This was his chance to make it all right. This was his chance to be there.

And he ran to her. He ran as fast as he possibly could. Suddenly, nothing seemed to matter anymore than the simple action of getting to her.

And she saw him.

But then, as he ran, it seemed as if something was keeping her further and further away. He could see her looking at him, but she didn't move. He kept running, but he never could get to her.

And then he gave up. This couldn't be real. This was some kind of ... dream.

"This isn't a dream, Syaoran."

Syaoran looked up to see John standing before him once again.

"You once said that you never regretted anything more than just one thing."

"...and what was that...?"

"That you could never fly."

It wasn't the reply that Syaoran expected to hear.

"You wished you could fly back to Japan to see her, didn't you?"

Syaoran knew that John was right. It was so insignificant to him though, it was once only a quick thought, an impossibility that comes when you need a wish to come true.

John then fumbled in his pockets and took out a pocketwatch. It was an emblazened gold color, showing its fine age as proud as a bottle of wine.

"Take this, Syaoran. You had it once, a long long time ago. Now, however, it is not meant to tell you the time. It tells you when your time is up."

"My time is up?" Syaoran asked, looking at the old watch. He had thrown it into the ocean a year earlier.

"You're going to wake up, Syaoran."

And with that, John smiled. "This is your chance to confront it all, Syaoran. This is your chance to fly."

And as John disappeared, Syaoran found himself standing somewhere else. He wasn't alone though. No, something else was there beside him. Someone else's presence, someone he had not seen in such a long time.

Sakura.

There she was, staring back at him.

This was his chance.

This was his chance to turn it all around.

And already it seemed that Syaoran had forgotten the one important detail.

It was only a dream.


End file.
